


1845

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American Civil War RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: Acting, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Gambling, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Male Friendship, Military, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Texas, pre-Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ulysses S. Grant and James Longstreet were friends before they were enemies. Years before the Civil War, in 1845, they are stationed at Corpus Christi together as tensions build towards the Mexican-American war. This is a fictional account of that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1845

**Author's Note:**

> *~*~*~* DISCLAIMER: it is late, i'm exhausted, any errors are my own. the chronology may be a little bit fucked up, but not terribly so. i hope. and if they're ooc, again, i apologize. i'm doing my best on no sleep and little brain. also, the book that inspired all of this is Longstreet's biography by Jeffry D. Wert *~*~*~*
> 
> Wow, I never write RPF. But I've been reading Longstreet's biography, and just had to express my feels somehow. The historical record shows that Longstreet (nicknamed "Pete" or "Old Pete" by friends) and Grant passed the time in various ways - hunting, gambling (playing brag) and yes, acting. Grant was also offered the role of Desdemona (after Longstreet, who was then rejected for being too tall) in Othello (though I've seen various records, some of which say he performed it, others which say he did not.) Anyway, that was a nugget of information that was just to amazing not to want to write about.
> 
> Also sorry, this gets sort of angsty towards the end. Whoops.

* * *

"Go on, surely you know it by now!"

The sun is blazing overhead, and it is too near noon for sane individuals to willingly be outside, yet here Ulysses S. Grant finds himself, with the weight of a rifle heavy in his hands and the boisterous bursts of his dearest friend, James Longstreet, booming in his ears. Pete - for that is what Longstreet's friends call him - had been the one to suggest that their few spare hours be spent hunting turkeys. Their time is now drawing to a close, and they had shot but three times and hit precisely nothing, which Grant attributes in part to the fact that Longstreet is in a vocal mood, and seems intent on reciting lines to help Grant prepare for his upcoming stage performance. It is a bit of a lark, but the officers have often taken it upon themselves to put on a play for the enlisted men, and so, it was decided that the men who were slighter and small of frame would play the roles of women.

"I would recall more if I weren't being baked in the afternoon sun," Grant replies, but there no venom in it. Longstreet has always given him ample room to excuse himself from all the wild antics he so wholeheartedly embraces. If he had wanted a cool, shaded brow and a monastic silence, Grant would have stayed in the camp and let Longstreet run himself ragged chasing turkeys in the brush until the sun set.

"You'll be no good if you can't remember it. Here, I'll go again," Longstreet asserts, and recommences.

"Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing."

Grant sighs and squints at what he thinks might be a rustle of movement some distance away.

"That's where you enter," Longstreet clarifies.

"With what?"

"What?"

"Enter with what?"

Longstreet pauses and retrieves a hastily scribbled note from somewhere in his pockets. A quick glance reveals the line to him, and he repeats it.

"Why, this is not a boon," he begins.

Grant is convinced now that the rustling was merely the feeble attempts of the heavy Texas air trying to stir up a breeze. He has not been particularly attentive to the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Pete. It has gone," he sighs, and blinks rapidly as a bead of sweat falls into his eye. "Perhaps if you would read it, I would have more of a chance."

It is more to pass the time than to practice, really, but Longstreet gives it a good effort, even going as far as to speak in a rather comical falsetto.

"Why, this is not a boon,

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,

Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,

Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit

To your own person: nay, when I have a suit

Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,

It shall be full of poise and difficult weight

And fearful to be granted."

He finishes by throwing a stone into the brush in the hopes of startling some elusive creature, but the action accomplishes naught.

"That was quite well done," Grant says, and means it, perceiving the effort beneath Longstreet's boyish humor. "If they ever decide to go back to you, you'd make a splendid Desdemona."

"I'm tall enough to make two of her, I'd wager," Longstreet grins.

"You'd wager on anything," Grant replies, to which Longstreet guffaws.

"Perhaps you're right, which reminds me that there's to be a game of brag tonight, if you'd care to join. We'll have only little wagers."

Grant sighs. The heat of the sun is a weight on his shoulders. He's uncomfortably warm and the idea of gambling with the other officers does not appeal to him.

Glancing sideways, he sees the expectant look on Longstreet's face and is struck, not for the first time, at the strange balance of their friendship. He wonders if it will be like this always, with both of them close as brothers and different as night and day. Perhaps, but more likely is that married life will temper Longstreet some, will civilize him. This opposition, like their friendship, is fixed in time, and Grant knows that when they both are older, with families and legacies of their own, they will likely be too busy for hunting, or games.

"I'll come," he says at last, and Longstreet smiles.


End file.
